


it's you (that I hold onto)

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Series: Spidey-shots, Spidey-shots, now they're done, thanks a lot <3 [45]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Bus, Disguise, F/M, Letters, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Letters, On the Run, Pining, Poor Peter Parker, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Prompt Fic, Travel, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: Peter goes on the run after the events ofFar From Homeand checks in with the people he cares about as best he can.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Spidey-shots, Spidey-shots, now they're done, thanks a lot <3 [45]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1368034
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46
Collections: The Spideychelle Shuffle





	it's you (that I hold onto)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the following lyrics from "Sparks" by Coldplay:
> 
> _But I promise you this/I’ll always look out for you/Yeah, that’s what I’ll do_

Peter wakes up and realizes the soft press against his mouth isn’t MJ’s lips. He’s left their trio of London kisses behind in his dream. He sits up straight, doing his best to flex and stretch his back in the stiff seat of the coach bus. At least he finally got some sleep, folded in half, with his head on the sweatshirt bunched up on his lap. This is bus number…? Heading…? He can’t even remember. He peers out the window for a minute as his eye twitches, trying to adjust to the early-morning light after the rumpled darkness of his makeshift pillow. None of the signs that go by on the highway bear the names of large cities. He’s not even sure which state he’s in. It doesn’t really matter. He knows he’s not home.

At the bus depot, he resists drawing his hood up for shelter. The butter-blond hair he now sports after a self-done gas station bathroom sink bleach job is his disguise and concealing the disguise just makes him obviously Peter Parker again. He wishes he hadn’t forgotten to do his eyebrows, but maybe it’s for the best. After the way he nearly burnt his scalp off with chemicals, he doesn’t like to think what would’ve happened if anything had dripped into his eyes.

Peter stares in confusion at the payphone tucked into the wall near the entrance to the grubby bathrooms before bolting forward. As subtly as possible, he thumbs through the heavy phonebook dangling below the receiver and tears a couple of pages out. He stuffs them into his pocket, hits the men’s, and walks purposefully out of the depot in search of food.

He doesn’t have much money. May gave him all the cash she had on hand, only once he promised to wait for her to call Happy and see if Tony Stark had a plan for what the hell her nephew was supposed to do after being publicly accused of murder. Of course, he snuck out the window the minute her back was turned. Hotels aren’t a problem; Peter buys the cheapest bus ticket he can get at every town he winds up in and sleeps on the road. Fast food is his next priority when allocating his sparse budget. Beyond that, he shouldn’t be spending money. Except transportation and food don’t take care of all of his needs.

Luckily, it doesn’t cost much to send a letter.

Someone’s lost their pen and Peter plucks it off the floor. Between carefully paced bites of a chicken sandwich, he writes letters on the phonebook pages he swiped. These things are jammed with text, but he’s strategic, writing along the margins and bending sentences around the 90-degree edges of ads for psychics and personal injury lawyers. One page will go to May, one to Ned, and one to MJ. There’s a post office by the bus depot and he stops in for a stamp and envelope. The man behind the counter makes a crack about the strangeness of seeing a young person use snail mail. Hasn’t this kid heard of texting? Peter offers a weak smile because being mildly agreeable makes him less memorable.

He heads outside and painstakingly folds his three letters before slipping them into the envelope, sealing it, and addressing it with his stolen pen. Like the others, he’ll send this one to May, putting the task of distributing the other two messages in her hands. The addresses on the phonebook paper will let her know where he is; his words will let her know, again, that he’s sorry. Reaffirm his convictions. Remind her he loves her. Promise to look after himself out here in the world. Ned gets much of the same. Another thing the letters share is his one request: check on MJ. Take her to the movies, have her over for dinner, ask how she is like they’re trying to compose a report to send to him. Obviously, Peter can’t get mail, but he wants his aunt and his best friend to be thorough in their attention to his girlfriend. Estranged girlfriend. Former girlfriend. Yeah, he doesn’t really know where that stands these days.

To MJ, he writes that he misses her. That he thinks about her. That he _dreams_ about her. That this might feel like forever, but it won’t be.

He applies the peel-and-stick stamp, slips the envelope into the outdoor mailbox, and walks back to the depot. Fifteen minutes later, Peter boards a mostly-empty bus to Arizona. He picks a window seat, his usual preference, and looks out. As they roll out of town, he scans the landscape hungrily for oddities and details. He’s building a story in his mind. Someday, he’ll tell her all the things he saw.


End file.
